


Adult Entertainment

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Series: Dread: the Lost Year [1]
Category: Sagas of Sundry, Sagas of Sundry: Dread
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Blow Jobs, Glory Hole, M/M, Misogyny, Oral Sex, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: Kayden spends most of the year working in a video store. That much is the truth. It’s just that the store isn’t the crappy little one in town; it’s one up in the big city, the one that tourists mispronounce and can’t spell without checking a postcard.It’s not exactly the sort of store that rents out Disney movies.





	Adult Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Sagas, post-ITTD, during what I imagine would constitute the literal worst gap year ever.
> 
> Sagas of Sundry: Dread characters belong to their respective creators and are used here without thought of financial gain.
> 
> Warning for explicitly gendered slurs. Please let me know if you feel I need to add any further warnings!
> 
> Thanks to Arkham for another excellent beta. If anything's still wrong, it's my fault.
> 
> * * *

Kayden spends most of the year working in a video store. That much is the truth. It’s just that the store isn’t the crappy little one in town; it’s one up in the big city, the one that tourists mispronounce and can’t spell without checking a postcard.

It’s not exactly the sort of store that rents out Disney movies.

The front window coyly announces “adult entertainment”. The section of the store immediately inside the entrance—which consists of a short hallway that doglegs from the front door, walls painted black—has cheap lingerie, softcore magazines, and the sort of books that are a touch more erotic than Mills and Boon. But only a touch; this is where men might bring their partners or friends for a laugh before going to Blockbuster for something safely PG-13.

Further back there’s the more interesting stuff, or at least what Kayden thought was more interesting when he started working here: the hardcore magazines that he has to check regularly for rips or worse in the dark plastic wrapping; the empty cases for the videos that have disappointed many a would-be shoplifter; a handful of fetish wear that’s a step up from the adorable pink fluffy handcuffs in the front.

In the very back walled off section there’s the adult video arcade, and that’s where Kayden spends most of his time: cleaning up, collecting tokens from the booths, and... the rest.

The customers are provided with paper towels and a trashcan, but probably one in three times Kayden goes in after a customer has left and has to clean come off the seat—or more esoteric places, like the booth walls or, on one or two occasions, ceiling. He’s yet to figure out which of the regulars manages to shoot that hard. Then again, the regulars are usually better about cleaning up after themselves.

He’s gotten used to it, like he’s gotten used to fixing the video players himself because the callout fees are crazy high, like he’s gotten used to switching between salesman personae depending on which part of the store he’s working.

Polite but a little dirty up front, giving the ladies a little thrill before their husbands buy them something tacky, lacy, and red. Sometimes he’ll pretend to dust the backside of a wife or girlfriend with a fetish fantasy frisky feather duster, and maybe that’ll generate a sale. Maybe even a return visit for a flogger or crop.

Matter-of-fact in the middle section, strictly business, even officious if someone gets in a snit about their desired movie not being available, or the fact that the cases are on display, but the tapes themselves are in a locked cabinet. Grabbing the wrist of someone about to slap their shopping companion on the ass with a paddle and silently staring them down, nodding at the _do not try implements in store_ sign almost always sends them away with more than they’d planned to buy, which frankly impresses Kayden himself.

In the back room he’s whoever the customers need him to be. In the back room he does what he considers to be his best work.

They don’t know it’s him, at least in theory. Most men don’t pay attention to who’s on the other side of the glory hole. Unlike some it’s completely sealed off; they can’t reach over the partition to touch him or to see him. Sometimes he misses the touch aspect, particularly having his hair pulled, being yanked closer and face-fucked.

But he doesn’t miss people being able to see his face.

He’s lied successfully about his age for years, so much so that even his schoolteachers, who have access to more of his personal records than he’d like, used to wonder if he wasn’t actually in his mid-twenties and just posing as a senior. Lying about his age helped him get his start in this city with its tongue-twister name. Back then it was women, not men. (Well. Mostly women.) But while the hair-pulling and taking orders and testing both his and their limits was delightful, the looks of pity that stole through the cracks were not.

And so the “adult entertainment” store; so the glory hole in the back, the very last arcade booth, where the men push first their token and then their cocks through the hole. They don’t tell him he looks too young for this kind of work or that his eyes are so pretty and sad because they can’t _see_ him; most of the things they say are inventive little bon mots such as, “Suck it, bitch,” or, “Cantcha take it any deeper, you pussy?”

They have condoms on their side; if they’re not bagged when they present themselves to be serviced Kayden does it for them. The store may be a side street shithole, but the manager has standards of care for his employees, from those who exclusively work out front to those who exist in the same twilight zone as Kayden, fluxing back and forth between sunny counter staff to a shadow mouth and hands in darkness.

Most guys like him—freshmen at art college, working some form of shitty job to keep themselves fed during the semester, only going home for winter break and maybe for a week mid-year—spend their entertainment quarters at video arcades where they play _Donkey Kong_ or _Dig Dug_.

In this video arcade, tokens don’t buy barrel-flinging monkeys or exploding monsters. They buy movies or mouth.

* * *

Kayden’s sitting on the tall stool behind the counter where he can see the front entrance and also watch Tiff’s ass as she stands on the stepladder and shelves a handful of cases that rarely stay there for long: seems like everyone loves French stuff at the moment, even though the movies come without subtitles.

Ha. As if anyone’s listening to the dialogue.

“I can feel you staring at me, asshole,” Tiff says, wiggling her ass as she steps down the ladder.

“I couldn’t see your asshole, but if your panties get any smaller it’s gonna happen.” Kayden turns a page in the book he’s supposed to be reading for class, looking through rather than at the pages. Either he’ll bullshit his way through or he won’t. It’s starting to matter less as the year wears on.

“Oh no, Mr. Video Rental Man, is my skirt too short?” Tiff faux-gasps. “Why, I had no idea you could see—”

“The ‘front entrance only’ tattoo on your thigh?”

Tiff grins. She’s a pixie of a woman, all pigtails and tiny tartan skirt and sheer blouse, a thirty-something schoolgirl who makes it look _good_ . While she wasn’t one of the women who paid Kayden to fuck her, he’s done enough with her since to know that the tattoo is a lie. “Maybe I need to hem this skirt up some more.”

“Right. Hey, is Charlie done for the day or is he still back there?”

“I’m here.” Charlie, who is maybe two-fifty pounds of bear-man who, as far as Kayden knows, likes nothing better than sucking cock, moseys out from the arcade. “Place is empty. You kids okay to close up?”

“It’s not even ten,” Kayden objects.

“It’s _Tuesday_ .”

“We do still get customers on weeknights,” Tiff says. “Not everyone’s tied to a nine-to-five.”

As if any of them need reminding. Charlie, as well as giving extremely enthusiastic blowjobs during the week, is a bouncer on Fridays and Saturdays at whichever club needs him at the time. If Tiff’s not here she’s stripping, filming porn, directing porn, or working as a pro-domme; Kayden’s honestly not sure when she sleeps. Raoul’s doing a science degree advanced enough to make him tear his hair out but not so advanced that he gets any grants. Jude’s a schoolteacher. Tim’s a lifeguard. Michael, the owner, doesn’t talk a lot about his life outside of the store but Kayden’s always had the impression that he owns at least one other such store. He does know that Michael’s boyfriend Jonathan has what was until recently called GRID; that’s why the condoms and the rules are in place.

“Speaking of customers,” Charlie begins, “we have a lurker.” He’s looking down at the small CCTV screen behind the counter with a frown. There’s someone pacing nervously outside the storefront.

“Maybe he’s just shy,” Tiff says, taking a peek between the two men. “Aw, he’s just a baby!”

“We were all young once,” Kayden says.

“You’re _still_ young, kiddo,” Charlie rumbles.

Kayden finally looks down at the screen himself and freezes.

“I’m going in back,” he says, voice strained, almost running for the curtain leading back to the arcade area, because even though the grainy black and white footage doesn’t show the ginger hair or the faded orange and brown of the plaid shirt, he doesn’t need color to recognize Tanner.

* * *

What Kayden doesn’t count on is Tanner actually coming into the arcade.

He has to figure that Tiff and Charlie didn’t think it was totally weird that he ran off, because neither of them come after him. When it’s first five then ten minutes and nothing’s happened aside from one of the auto-rewind machines getting cranky (he fixes it with a clenched fist to the top of the casing; good old percussive maintenance), he’s about to head back out, because maybe he can catch Tanner with _Debbie Does Dallas_ or that old favorite the fetish fantasy frisky feather duster, and tease him mercilessly.

But then the curtain twitches aside, the brighter light shining in briefly from the front of the store before Tanner passes through, letting the heavy fabric fall back in place and reducing the lighting to what’s flickering from the television screens and the small green lights outside each booth indicating its availability.

Kayden retreats into the one place he can lock: his side of the glory hole.

In hindsight he could probably have shut himself in a booth. He doesn’t think Tanner would be brave enough to disrespect a red light. But then again he didn’t think Tanner would come back here, and yet.

He can hear Tanner’s footsteps over the chorus of moans and wet fucking sounds. The booths run a variety of fairly generic videos; he’s beside “horny college lesbian orgy”.

All that sound fades to silence as Tanner steps into the other half of Kayden’s booth. The wall between them is thin by necessity. Kayden hears the click of the door latching and cups his hand under the hole in time to catch the tokens that Tanner drops through: one, two. He hears the jingle of Tanner’s belt buckle, the unzipping of his jeans, the complicated sound of thick denim being pushed down Tanner’s skinny legs to presumably pool around his ankles.

Tanner’s breathing is light, quick, and Kayden hears him shift close to the hole. The soft sound of skin on skin. The condom wrapper being torn open. A quiet swallow, almost a gulp of suppressed nerves.

Kayden pokes his finger through the hole and crooks it in invitation. He’s painted his nails black; he’s not sure if that will make them more or less recognizable.

Tanner still doesn’t offer himself. Kayden stifles a sigh. On the one hand he’s got to do this, it’s his job, he’s already been paid. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be the first time a guy backed out, either bolting entirely or just jerking himself off to the sound of Kayden’s voice.

He’s sure as shit not saying anything to Tanner. As much as he wants Tanner’s cock in his mouth, that’s how much he _doesn’t_ want Tanner to know it’s him.

Fuck. He really _does_ want Tanner’s cock in his mouth. Or at least to _see_ .

Kayden leans closer to the hole, which Michael has lined with a thin layer of leather for added comfort and visual appeal. It would be a lot more visually appealing if Kayden could see anything other than Tanner’s irresolute, unmoving form. He can’t see Tanner’s face. That’s probably for the best.

He pokes his tongue right out, wriggling it through the hole, curling the tip in invitation, and hears Tanner gasp quietly.

_It’s okay, it’s fine, you’re fine, come on, please..._

Kayden backs up enough to give Tanner room and finally, _finally_ , his long-time friend, short-term quasi-nemesis, presents himself to be serviced.

God, he’s lovely.

Kayden closes his hand around Tanner’s shaft so he can’t go anywhere. In this instance it’s frustrating to have latex under his palm instead of bare skin. He doesn’t want safety, he wants to _see_ . But what he _can_ see is delicious: the slightest curve to the right, a pleasing thickness that makes Kayden wish he had the nerve to break the wall between them down and find something Tanner can bend him over, and the length—

The length is _exactly_ what he needs to fill up his mouth, Tanner’s cockhead nudging at the back of his throat, both of them moaning when Kayden’s nose hits the ginger curls around the base of Tanner’s cock.

Mostly this is a quick thing, over and done in a few minutes, Kayden spending more time making the place nice for the next person before going back to disentangling flogger tails. Sometimes he has to work until his jaw aches and he can hear the customer grunting, their nails scrabbling on the wood as though they want to grab his head and face-fuck him.

He knows this will not be quick. He won’t _let_ it be quick.

Kayden holds Tanner deep and lets his fingers with their short black nails explore Tanner’s balls—thank fuck he has that much room at least—feeling their soft heavy weight and the fuzz of hair over them. He presses one finger in just behind Tanner’s sac and feels Tanner’s cock jerk in his mouth. Kayden pulls his hand back. Not yet.

He lets Tanner’s cock slip free of his mouth and cups it against his cheek with one hand as he laps at the base, at Tanner’s balls. He wonders if and hopes that Tanner can feel the size and shape of his hand and the faint press of his stubble even through that latex. He wants Tanner to know that it’s a man on his knees for him. Kayden doesn’t usually mind what the men on the other side of the wall think. Hell, he’s even paused and put on lipstick for the ones who are particularly adamant about calling him

( _bitch whore slut, suck it down good, bet you wish this was in your pretty little pussy, not your mouth, choke on this you dirty girl, I know you want to get that gorgeous face of yours all covered in come_ )

by feminine terminology. Tiff and Jude tell him off for reinforcing patriarchal stereotyping about the industry, but all Kayden cares about is the extra money pushed through the hole when the guys draw their sated, deflated cocks back and there’s a pretty pink ring around the condom.

Not for Tanner. Kayden wants Tanner to _know_ .

He takes Tanner all the way into his mouth again and this time keeps him there, breathing through his nose as he offers Tanner several hard slow sucks that have Tanner gasping, hips banging into the partition.

“Fuck, oh, fuck...”

Kayden really wants to respond with words.

He doesn’t want Tanner to know _that_ much.

What would he think, this dorky young man, if he could see Kayden through the lens of Kayden’s reality? Would he withdraw and walk out and never speak to Kayden again? Would he stay long enough to shoot his load and then go back to their small town, hunt down Sat, and tell her?

Would he become a repeat customer?

Kayden moans around his mouthful at the last thought and feels Tanner’s cock twitch appreciatively between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He pins it there and moans again, this time as filthy and low as he can make it, and is rewarded with Tanner’s answering strangled sound of need.

Kayden doesn’t tell him _not yet_ with words. Instead he backs off to the point where just the head of Tanner’s cock is resting on his tongue, his lips loose around it, sucking softly, almost lazily. Tanner keeps trying to shove back in but Kayden holds him off with one hand loosely jacking his shaft. The other hand is working Kayden’s own pants open. He doesn’t usually bother with that. His pleasure and penance lie in serving. If he wants to come he does it when he’s off the clock, sometimes with Tiff or Charlie, but usually back at his apartment, alone with a magazine or video.

When he frees his cock of the confines of its cotton prison, he couldn’t imagine even trying to leave the booth in his current state. He could take care of himself with three quick jerks, tops, and lick the residue off his hand as a substitute for the taste of Tanner denied to him by the condom.

But if he’s testing Tanner’s stamina, he might as well test himself in the process.

Tanner whimpers from the other side of the wall. Kayden hears his palm strike the wood a couple of times. If Tanner hit hard enough he could break through and grab Kayden’s hair, force his cock down Kayden’s throat, and be done with this slow tease.

Kayden’s not sure if he admires or resents Tanner’s restraint in not doing so.

He does quicken his pace and deepen his sucks, letting Tanner’s full length press in between his lips before pulling his head back and doing it all again. Tanner’s murmuring steadily now, a low rush of sound that makes no sense, gibberish begging. Kayden returns the sound with a long low hum of pleasure, of pride in his work, and knows Tanner’s not far from coming. His fingers around the base of Tanner’s cock can feel the growing tension, the way his muscles are fluttering with the effort of holding back, the way his sac is drawing up tight, ready to spill over.

Kayden figures that’s as good a time to pause as any.

He lifts his mouth off Tanner, stretching his jaw wide, keeping his fingers tight around the base of Tanner’s shaft. He rolls his other thumb over the head of his own cock, mildly surprised by just how much pre-come he’s dripping.

“Fuck... come on, come on.”

There’s no way the poor asshole knows this is him being fucked with rather than a normal occurrence. Kayden lips at the tip of Tanner’s cock, putting gentle pressure on, and feels Tanner slap the partition again.

He’s expecting a _suck it down_ or _are you too scared you’ll choke_ or even _is my monster dick too big for your little mouth_ (okay, maybe not that one).

What he’s not expecting is the low, breathy, “Please, oh, please...”

 _Interesting_.

Kayden takes Tanner about halfway in, sucking lazily, moving his hand (both of his hands, actually) slowly but with intent. Tanner cries out incoherently and when he tries to push in deeper Kayden lets him.

“Oh God. Oh _God_. _Please_. I need—”

Kayden takes him all the way down, smacking his nose against the partition in his eagerness, and Tanner’s words are suddenly muffled. Kayden can picture it pretty well; Tanner with his pants around his ankles and the side of his hand in his mouth, trying not to scream. Face and neck flushed, forehead and hips pressed against the wood, ass flexing a little with the small thrusts that he doesn’t even need to make given how dedicated Kayden is to his work.

He wants to touch. To break down the wall, grab Tanner’s bare ass, and yank him close. To look up into Tanner’s eyes and give him an evil grin before swallowing him down. To throw the condom aside and suck every last drop out of Tanner until he can’t fucking _stand_.

He can’t.

Kayden makes do with letting out his own cry of completion as the mental image pushes him over, muffled though it is by Tanner’s cock very effectively gagging him. He hears a startled gasp before Tanner comes, pulsing hard in Kayden’s mouth, hips smacking against the wood, short nails scratching at it.

Kayden sucks him all the way through it, lifting his hand to his mouth to dart his tongue out and catch a taste of his own come, to pretend.

Tanner lets out a long, sated sigh. When his hand comes down, fingers pinching the base of the condom to withdraw, Kayden catches a glimpse of the semicircular imprint of teeth marks in his flesh.

He hears paper towels being pulled from the dispenser, the wet splat of the used condom hitting the bottom of the trashcan, Tanner putting his clothes back together. Kayden stays on his knees; he doesn’t quite trust his legs to work at the moment.

Two of Tanner’s fingers come through the hole, two twenties pinched between them. Forty fucking dollars.  Sometimes Kayden gets a couple of ones, maybe a five, which is half the cost of a single token; he knows waitresses who don't get 25% tips. _Forty_. Jesus wept. Praised be the rich kids, for they know not where to throw their money about.

He takes the money and, without really thinking about it, kisses Tanner’s fingertips. Tanner traces his lower lip very briefly with one finger and then pulls away for the last time.

“Thank you,” Kayden hears him murmur.

He can’t help it; he has to respond.

“Any time,” he says, pitching his voice lower than usual. He doesn’t think he sounds like himself.

Even so, he’s sure that Tanner pauses for a second before exiting the booth. The door clicks closed behind him and his footsteps fade beyond the sounds of moaning women.

Only then does Kayden let himself relax, groping blindly for a wet wipe. He cleans up, chugs half a Jolt from the cooler in the corner (Tiff keeps mouthwash in it; none of them relish the aftertaste of latex), and rises unsteadily to his feet, pocketing the twenties.

Tanner has left the other side of the booth impeccably clean, save for the smell of sex in the air. Kayden pulls the liner free of the small trashcan, which only has Tanner’s leavings in it, and inhales deeply for a moment. He fixes the scent of Tanner in his mind, and then he re-lines the trashcan and dutifully takes the small bag to the final, least interesting room of the store: Michael’s office.

Fifteen seconds after dropping the bag into the larger bin to be taken out to the dumpster, Kayden picks it back out, pulls one of the damp paper towels out, and scrunches it up inside the bandana in his pocket.

It sure as shit doesn’t smell like rosemary, but he’d prefer this for remembrance anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> [This now has fanart!](https://gleefullyrisque.tumblr.com/post/164085064907/inspired-by) NSFW, as befits an explicit fic.


End file.
